February 23, 2012

Game #62 -- Red Wings vs. Canucks

The momentum of an unheard of 23 consecutive home wins. The amazing Jimmy Howard. The amazing Miller/Helm/Abdelkader line stepping up for Pavel Datsyuk. The triumphant return of Kyle Quincey. And Todd Bertuzzi Bobblehead Night. Put together, it was still not enough to eek one out over the Vancouver Canucks, who thoroughly outplayed the Wings for a large portion of this game, who were that much more deserving of the two points. I know, I know. Even on Bert Bobblehead Night. I know.

It can only be one person's fault (I'm going to say "mine", but to hell with it, it's actually Alex Burrow's parent's fault). Here's a few bullets:

Quincey's an alright hockey player. But his most important skill in my eyes, no matter what he contributes to the team in the next few months, is how much he looks like a grown-up Chalky Studebaker.

And I'm happy with the move by Holland and everything but does Quincey have to wear #27? It's about time Marc Bergevin got some fucking respect.

So Darren Helm scored. That was weird. Now we know the key to getting Helm to light the lamp: Next time he's on a breakaw.... shit we just missed it. Okay, NEXT time he's on a breakaway, Larry Murphy screams "RED LIGHT" causing everybody to stop where they're at, we put an opposing defenseman in his way, we replace Helm's stick with a giant butterfly net, then we replace the puck with a horse turd, then Murph screams "GREEN LIGHT" to start the play again, and then Helm scores. Shouldn't be too hard to pull off. (30 seconds later, Larry Murphy screams, "YELLOW LIGHT" because he now thinks that he has turned into a traffic signal.)

Mickey Redmond 1st period highlight: trying to break down and understand the Green Man phenomenon (and making some weird comparison to Spiderman); or actually pointing out that Johan Franzen was taking a "leisure skate" on an offside call? The latter. You have to be looking pretty lazy for Mick to perform even a miniature version of calling out a Red Wing like that. If I were burning alive and lying in a pit of boner-having kangaroos, and for some reason the only two phone numbers I had were Johan Franzen's and a number that sends you to a recording of Mike Milbury reading erotica in Portuguese, I would certainly call Mule because he's an actual person and could possibly save me but god almighty would he take his time.

Similarly (I guess), if I had to kill the Sedin twins in the most creative way possible: I'd lead them to a pool of sharks, then lay down a bed of like 3 dozen hockey sticks around the outside, which they'd inevitably dive over into a shark's waiting mouth. They dive and stuff.

Similarly (for real), Ryan Kesler complaining that a player dove to draw a penalty is like me complaining that my cat insists on bathing right in front of me. (I'm going off the assumption that we all lock our cats in the bathroom with us and make them watch us as we shower.)

I bet Roberto Luongo has weird-smelling breath.

Sami Salo slogs his way to retrieve a puck that somehow becomes icing, as he does his finest "This is as fast as I can skate" arm-swinging thing, and then the Wings can't get the puck out of their own zone, leading to a Vancouver tying goal with 15 seconds left. And yet, I didn't feel so terrible about it knowing that Sami Salo has had a ruptured testicle and I have not.

We have yet to win a game when I do a recap of at The Triple Deke this year.